No One Deserves This - Fighting for My Health, Home n'Rights
Donation protected
They Took Everything. I’m Alone. I Need Help to Survive.
My name is Anastasia Tyan. I live in Miami, alone, with my two French Bulldogs. They are my only family. My dad passed away and didn’t left anything for me, he gave everything to unknown people. My mom is always drunk for last 5 years.
I’m a model, an artist, and a licensed nail technician. I’ve worked hard my whole life, built everything on my own, and never imagined I’d one day be writing this. But now I have no choice. I’m asking for help — because I am out of options. I am sick. I am under threat of eviction. And I am completely, terrifyingly alone. It started with a broken washing machine. It ended with blood loss, betrayal, and collapse. On January 21, 2025, my washing machine broke — locking my clothes inside. I discovered black mold on my air vents soon after. I realized the building hadn’t done any maintenance in over two years. I’d been feeling sick for months — no energy, foggy, physically drained — and I finally understood why. I followed every legal step. I messaged the manager, sent photos and videos, explained everything. I asked for urgent repairs. They mocked me. Told me to “call 911.” The technician they sent was nearly 2 hours late, showed up without tools, didn’t fix anything, scared my dogs, and left. Then they blamed me for the mold. They refused to compensate me. They refused to schedule repairs unless I promised not to video-record the visit. In my own home. I had no lawyer. I was doing everything alone. And they kept pushing me deeper into fear, confusion, and powerlessness.
My body and mind began to shut down under the stress. Emails turned into migraines. Rashes. Insomnia. My body broke down. I started losing clients. I couldn’t take jobs or show up to castings. I was trying to survive on migraine pills, allergy pills, and anxiety pills — just to get through a single day. Still, I paid rent under protest in February and March. In April, I said enough. I couldn’t live like this anymore. I stopped paying. I thought they’d finally listen. Instead — they filed to evict me.
Even the people who promised to help me… walked away. My salon director saw everything. She watched my health deteriorate. She promised to testify in court. I trusted her. But then, just days before the hearing, she pulled me aside and said, “I can’t be a witness. Only a friend.” My heart sank. But I understood — people don’t want to carry other people’s problems. I was devastated. But I said nothing. A few hours later… I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. Out of nowhere, I felt a violent need to run to the bathroom. And then — two liters of blood came pouring out of me. I lost consciousness. I woke up on the floor of the salon, paralyzed, in my director’s arms. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel anything. She was screaming my name. The ambulance was coming. I begged her to take photos to show the doctors. She did. I lay there — terrified, humiliated, covered in blood and feces. I couldn’t move physically.
When the EMTs arrived, she waved goodbye and stayed at the salon. The hospital treated me like paperwork, not a person. I was terrified. I have thin veins — last time I was hospitalized, they had to poke me 48 times to find a vein. That trauma still lives in my body. Thankfully, this time, the EMTs found a vein quickly. I cried — grateful for even that tiny act of mercy. But at the ER, they kept asking the same questions, over and over — like I wasn’t there, like I didn’t just nearly die. They took more blood. My hemoglobin was 12.3, which they claimed was “great” and tried to send me home. I told them I’d just lost two liters of blood less than 1 hour ago, the test won’t show you the real level, it will show up inn6 hours minimum. I could barely stand. I was dizzy and weak. They didn’t care.
I messaged my director, asking for the photos she took — to show the doctors what had happened. She denied ever taking them. But I remember it. I saw her press the shutter three times. She said she was “too nervous.” I asked her why she didn’t come with me to the hospital. She said she had to clean the floor. I asked where my belongings were — my shoes, bag, and pants. She said she threw my pants in the trash because they were dirty. I begged her to get them back — I needed them to prove how much blood I had lost. She said no. I realized then — she was trying to get rid of any evidence. She handed me my belongings like I was nothing, said she needed to ask her husband before driving me home, then reluctantly said ok and drove me home. The look on her husband face told me everything — he had told her to abandon me.
I still went to court. Weak. Bleeding. Alone. With no lawyer. I brought my ER report and all the evidence. I laid it out in front of the judge and the landlord’s lawyer. I spoke with clenched fists and tears in my eyes. I told them everything. I asked for fairness. For safety. For my right to record inside my own home. I asked the court to recognize the damage to my body, my income, and my dignity. The judge said: “Don’t even open your mouth.” He ruled that I had to pay two months of rent or face eviction. He banned me from video recording the repair or he will evict me — even if it was the only proof I could ever have if something went wrong.
I left the courthouse and had a full-body panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. My organs spasmed. My chest was pounding. I was losing more blood again. I collapsed. Alone. I called lawyers. All of them refused to help — because the hearing had already happened. I was losing consciousness. I begged a friend to help me get to a law office. I collapsed on the steps in front of the law office. They called 911.
I was hospitalized again. This time, doctors said I had lost 5 liters of blood total. My blood level was 8.1 this time. I had a blood transfusion, colonoscopy, endoscopy, MRIs, and more.
The next betrayal came days later — from the same person who promised to help. And while I was still recovering — still in a hospital bed — I got a message from my director. I had been fired. She just utilized me in the same way she utilized my pants in the trash. And this is the person who told me she will be my witness in the court. I don’t have words.
I am still recovering.
The diagnosis is unclear. But I’m scared, broke, and completely alone.
I have no man. No lawyer. No money. No justice. I am asking you — not for pity — but for help.
Please help me cover my basic needs:
• Rent, so I don’t get evicted
• Medicine, so I can continue healing
• Legal support, so I can defend myself
• Food, so I can survive I’m not okay.
But I’m still here. And I still believe that someone out there will care enough to help. If you’ve ever felt invisible, abandoned, or silenced — please hear me now. I don’t want to give up. Please help me hold on.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart. With love and deep gratitude,
Anastasia Tyan
My name is Anastasia Tyan. I live in Miami, alone, with my two French Bulldogs. They are my only family. My dad passed away and didn’t left anything for me, he gave everything to unknown people. My mom is always drunk for last 5 years.
I’m a model, an artist, and a licensed nail technician. I’ve worked hard my whole life, built everything on my own, and never imagined I’d one day be writing this. But now I have no choice. I’m asking for help — because I am out of options. I am sick. I am under threat of eviction. And I am completely, terrifyingly alone. It started with a broken washing machine. It ended with blood loss, betrayal, and collapse. On January 21, 2025, my washing machine broke — locking my clothes inside. I discovered black mold on my air vents soon after. I realized the building hadn’t done any maintenance in over two years. I’d been feeling sick for months — no energy, foggy, physically drained — and I finally understood why. I followed every legal step. I messaged the manager, sent photos and videos, explained everything. I asked for urgent repairs. They mocked me. Told me to “call 911.” The technician they sent was nearly 2 hours late, showed up without tools, didn’t fix anything, scared my dogs, and left. Then they blamed me for the mold. They refused to compensate me. They refused to schedule repairs unless I promised not to video-record the visit. In my own home. I had no lawyer. I was doing everything alone. And they kept pushing me deeper into fear, confusion, and powerlessness.
My body and mind began to shut down under the stress. Emails turned into migraines. Rashes. Insomnia. My body broke down. I started losing clients. I couldn’t take jobs or show up to castings. I was trying to survive on migraine pills, allergy pills, and anxiety pills — just to get through a single day. Still, I paid rent under protest in February and March. In April, I said enough. I couldn’t live like this anymore. I stopped paying. I thought they’d finally listen. Instead — they filed to evict me.
Even the people who promised to help me… walked away. My salon director saw everything. She watched my health deteriorate. She promised to testify in court. I trusted her. But then, just days before the hearing, she pulled me aside and said, “I can’t be a witness. Only a friend.” My heart sank. But I understood — people don’t want to carry other people’s problems. I was devastated. But I said nothing. A few hours later… I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. Out of nowhere, I felt a violent need to run to the bathroom. And then — two liters of blood came pouring out of me. I lost consciousness. I woke up on the floor of the salon, paralyzed, in my director’s arms. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel anything. She was screaming my name. The ambulance was coming. I begged her to take photos to show the doctors. She did. I lay there — terrified, humiliated, covered in blood and feces. I couldn’t move physically.
When the EMTs arrived, she waved goodbye and stayed at the salon. The hospital treated me like paperwork, not a person. I was terrified. I have thin veins — last time I was hospitalized, they had to poke me 48 times to find a vein. That trauma still lives in my body. Thankfully, this time, the EMTs found a vein quickly. I cried — grateful for even that tiny act of mercy. But at the ER, they kept asking the same questions, over and over — like I wasn’t there, like I didn’t just nearly die. They took more blood. My hemoglobin was 12.3, which they claimed was “great” and tried to send me home. I told them I’d just lost two liters of blood less than 1 hour ago, the test won’t show you the real level, it will show up inn6 hours minimum. I could barely stand. I was dizzy and weak. They didn’t care.
I messaged my director, asking for the photos she took — to show the doctors what had happened. She denied ever taking them. But I remember it. I saw her press the shutter three times. She said she was “too nervous.” I asked her why she didn’t come with me to the hospital. She said she had to clean the floor. I asked where my belongings were — my shoes, bag, and pants. She said she threw my pants in the trash because they were dirty. I begged her to get them back — I needed them to prove how much blood I had lost. She said no. I realized then — she was trying to get rid of any evidence. She handed me my belongings like I was nothing, said she needed to ask her husband before driving me home, then reluctantly said ok and drove me home. The look on her husband face told me everything — he had told her to abandon me.
I still went to court. Weak. Bleeding. Alone. With no lawyer. I brought my ER report and all the evidence. I laid it out in front of the judge and the landlord’s lawyer. I spoke with clenched fists and tears in my eyes. I told them everything. I asked for fairness. For safety. For my right to record inside my own home. I asked the court to recognize the damage to my body, my income, and my dignity. The judge said: “Don’t even open your mouth.” He ruled that I had to pay two months of rent or face eviction. He banned me from video recording the repair or he will evict me — even if it was the only proof I could ever have if something went wrong.
I left the courthouse and had a full-body panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. My organs spasmed. My chest was pounding. I was losing more blood again. I collapsed. Alone. I called lawyers. All of them refused to help — because the hearing had already happened. I was losing consciousness. I begged a friend to help me get to a law office. I collapsed on the steps in front of the law office. They called 911.
I was hospitalized again. This time, doctors said I had lost 5 liters of blood total. My blood level was 8.1 this time. I had a blood transfusion, colonoscopy, endoscopy, MRIs, and more.
The next betrayal came days later — from the same person who promised to help. And while I was still recovering — still in a hospital bed — I got a message from my director. I had been fired. She just utilized me in the same way she utilized my pants in the trash. And this is the person who told me she will be my witness in the court. I don’t have words.
I am still recovering.
The diagnosis is unclear. But I’m scared, broke, and completely alone.
I have no man. No lawyer. No money. No justice. I am asking you — not for pity — but for help.
Please help me cover my basic needs:
• Rent, so I don’t get evicted
• Medicine, so I can continue healing
• Legal support, so I can defend myself
• Food, so I can survive I’m not okay.
But I’m still here. And I still believe that someone out there will care enough to help. If you’ve ever felt invisible, abandoned, or silenced — please hear me now. I don’t want to give up. Please help me hold on.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart. With love and deep gratitude,
Anastasia Tyan
Organizer
Anastasia Tyan
Organizer
Miami, FL